Cotton Candy Kisses
by Allison Lindsay
Summary: "You know what, Rae? You were right, about us being thirteen years in the making. We were gonna happen sooner or later. And even though we happened to happen later than sooner, better later than never, right?" Raven/Chelsea.
1. Activation

Title: "Cotton Candy Kisses"

Author: Allison Lindsay

Pairing: Chelsea/Raven (a.k.a. ChRave)

Rating: M

Disclaimer: _That's So Raven_ belongs to many people, none of whom is me. The fic, however, is mine.

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This is a **FEMSLASH**. Let me reiterate that for you one more time: This is a **FEMSLASH**.

If the thought of **two women in a romantic and/or sexual relationship** makes you go _ewww,_ this story is not for you. Please click the back button now or forever hold your peace. In other words… No anti-femslash flames, por favor.

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To my fellow ChRavenites – This is my first TSR fic, and I hope you enjoy reading this story as much as I've enjoyed writing it. :o)

**Chapter One**

Gaudy rainbow lights.

Canary-yellow canopies.

The infectious giggles of throngs of children.

"Isn't this fun, Rae?" Chelsea Daniels turns to her companion, awaiting the grimace, the grumbles, the plea to flee. Instead, she is greeted with a smile, a pair of twinkling pupils, and a squeal of excitement.

Clutching her best friend's hand, Raven Baxter drags the teen along the trampled grass of the fairgrounds. Their destination: a rotund clown in a striped rayon costume and curly orange wig. "You pick the animal; I'll pick the color."

Chelsea contemplates her options. "Ummm… how 'bout a giraffe?"

"Okay. We will have one purple giraffe, please," Raven requests of the man with the greasy white face and shiny red nose.

The clown sifts through his assortment of balloons and plucks one from the pile. Using a pump to puff into the orifice, he causes the material to expand and elongate.

"Hey, Chels, did you know that giraffes are vegetarians?" Raven queries as the balloon artist twists the squeaky rubber into the shape of a long-necked herbivore.

"Ohh. I see someone's been reading up on the animal kingdom."

"I'm like a sponge," Raven boasts. "Just soakin' up that knowledge stuff." Her eyes stray from Chelsea, scanning the various attractions in the vicinity. "What you wanna do next? You wanna try and win something?"

No response. Chelsea is distracted by a group of adolescents tossing neon green ping pong balls into columns of glass fish bowls. Plink. Plunk. Splash. The corners of the girl's lips begin to sag as she observes the gaping mouths and translucent scales of the coveted aquatics.

"Aww, man, they look so sad in there," the redhead laments. "They're probably scared to death with those little balls flying everywhere. And the bowls are so small. They're like little scaly prisoners. Poor fishies."

Raven nudges her forlorn friend in the arm. "Chels? Call off the rescue mission, okay?" Her companion nods absentmindedly. "Oh, no." Raven taps Chelsea's noggin with her knuckles. "What kind of free-the-fish scheme are you hatchin' in there, girl? 'Cause I want no part of it. I got other fish to fry. Get it? Other fish to fry?"

Chelsea is hardly amused. "Yeah, I get it, Rae. Har-de-har-har."

"Sourpuss," Raven grouses. Sucking in her cheeks, she puckers her lips in imitation of an aquarium dweller. "Glub, glub, glub."

The redhead retains her composure for all of three seconds before dissolving into laughter.

"We'll find a game with prizes you _don't_ have to feed, okay?" the psychic proposes. No sooner do the words pass through her lips than she is propelled into the future.

_The Midway. A cacophony of voices, each attempting to drown out the others in their quest to lure customers to their game booths. _

"_Hey, Red!" one of them calls into his microphone. The girls take notice of a tan, lanky, zit-faced teenage boy with shaggy brown locks and a salacious smile. "What's your name, cutie? Come on over here. Lemme get a better look. If I like what I see, I'll give you a prize for free," he propositions, taunting her with an enormous stuffed gorilla._

"Oh, I know he ain't talkin' to you. You gonna let him talk to you like that? I'm not gonna let him talk to you like that, the little nasty." A scowl etched into her features, Raven prepares to pulverize the pipsqueak.

"Rae, calm down. You're getting all worked up because he called me 'young lady'?"

"Huh, what?" Raven glances from Chelsea to the cowering clown then back to Chelsea. Both regard her as though she is several eggs short of a dozen.

"He said, 'Here you go, young lady,' and handed me the giraffe," Chelsea elaborates, extending the inanimate object in the designer's direction.

"Oh. Oh, my bad," Raven mumbles in apology, steering the redhead away. "I had a vision," she explains when the baffled bozo is out of hearing range.

"So that's why you were trippin'," Chelsea deduces, garnering a raised eyebrow from Raven.

"Yeah, that's why I was… trippin'. I saw this guy hittin' on you, being real disrespectful. No one talks to my girl that way."

Chelsea's cheeks resemble one of the many tomatoes she'd consumed at veggie camp. Her protector. Her savior. Her knight in studded denim. "Aww, Rae," she gushes, blushes. _That deserves a hug_. The teen envelopes Raven in her arms, nestling her chin in the other girl's shoulder.

"So, um, how was your date last night?" Raven inquires when the two part.

As they approach the Midway, their eardrums are besieged by discordant, amplified shouting. _My vision_. "Uh, let's go this way." So saying, the psychic escorts the redhead to a row of refreshment booths.

"Ooh, yum!" Chelsea exclaims, inhaling the aroma of freshly popped kernels and fried funnel cakes.

Raven surveys the vendors. She chuckles as she observes a five-year-old boy in a Mickey Mouse T-shirt sink his teeth into a churro the length of his arm. "I don't think you're gonna find any of that organic, all-natural, glutton-free stuff here."

"Gluten," Chelsea edits, sprinting to the candy floss kiosk and placing her order. "And to answer your question… the date went okay. He was nice and all, but… well, there just…"

"Wasn't any magic?" the psychic supplies.

"Exactly. I was getting more of a friend vibe, you know? More buddy-buddy than lovey-dovey. I wasn't really all that interested."

"How tragic," Raven grieves, a superficial semblance of sympathy. She drapes her arm across Chelsea's back, squeezing her shoulder. "I was so looking forward to designing your wedding dress."

"You still can," the redhead affirms as they wend their way through the teeming crowd. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to join this psychic and this vegetarian in holy macaroni… and cheese. If anyone has any objections, speak now or forever hold your horses." Chelsea pauses. "Anyone?" Five more seconds elapse. "Okay, then. I guess we're good to go. Do you want my name, or should I take yours?"

"Oh, I _know_ that's a rhetorical question, Chelsea Baxter."

"Chelsea Ophelia Baxter. Yeah, that works for me."

Raven twines a strand of fiery auburn hair behind the shell of Chelsea's ear. The gesture of affection is met with a bashful smile and a bowed head. "My blushing bride," Raven teases.

"Remember when you stole the bride's dress at Devon's dad's wedding?"

"Borrowed," the designer corrects her. "Yeah, I remember."

"Do you…" Chelsea hesitates before voicing her next question. "Do you still miss him?" _Please say no, please say no._

"As a friend, I miss him, but not as a boyfriend. I'm over him like that."

Raven releases Chelsea's shoulder.

_Don't do that._

A hand slides against pale skin. Fingers intertwine.

_Never mind. I like that better_.

"I don't wanna lose you," Raven says.

"I don't wanna lose me either," Chelsea says.

"You mean you don't wanna lose _me_ either."

"Yeah, that's what I said… Biscuithead."

The psychic stops in her tracks, resembling a vehicle grinding to a screeching halt. "Oh, no, see, _you're_ Biscuithead, okay?"

"Well, what goes with biscuits? Umm… oh, I know! Gravy! You can be Gravyhead. Biscuithead and Gravyhead. Isn't that cute?"

"You call me that again, I'm filing for divorce. Am I clear?"

Chelsea gulps, tucking her tail between her legs. "As a crystal ball."

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"Fuchsia."

"Puce."

"Chartreuse."

"What? No. Rae, come on. I love chartreuse!"

"I know. But, girl, please tell me you wouldn't even _consider_ makin' your bridesmaids wear a dress that color."

"I would if I could, but I can't, so I won't."

The statement sets Raven's head spinning like a dreidel. "Say _what_?"

"Be glad you're the bride," the redhead replies.

"All right, I got you. Back on the same page."

The line for the merry-go-round begins to move forward. "You having a good time, Rae?"

_Say something hug-worthy_. "I always have a good time with you."

"Awww!" Chelsea's insides dissolve into grape jelly. She embraces her companion with such fervor that she knocks the girl off balance and into the railing.

"Ow! Biscuithead!"

"Gravy… bowl… boat… train… Phew. Good thing I didn't say Gravyhead. Oops…"

Raven sighs and shakes her head ruefully. "So close, yet… so sorry. Splitsville, here we come."

Chelsea's lower lip quivers. Her shoulders droop. Pout. Whimper. Grovel. Repeat. "Please can I have another chance? Please, please, please?"

The psychic pretends to ponder the mercy plea. "I don't know, Chels. I mean, we had a deal, and you didn't hold up your end of the bargain." Leaning back, she rests her elbows against the rusty horizontal bar, corroded from age and exposure. "Why don't you try kissing up? That might help you redeem yourself."

_No problema_. The redhead stands to Raven's left, duplicating her companion's pose. "Chelsea Dan… Baxter thinks that Raven Baxter is super talented, super sweet, super smart, and super funny." _Super bossy, too, but I'm just gonna keep that one to myself._

The designer beams, her ego rapidly expanding. "Continue."

"Oh, I could go on forever."

"Keep on keepin' on, then."

"Hmmm… Should I? Could I? Would I? Will I? Won't I? May I? What say I-?"

"What say _I_ go ahead with that annulment?" Raven threatens, harsh, yet playful.

_All righty. You asked for it_. Chelsea's hand covers Raven's. Her chin perches atop Raven's shoulder. Her lips locate Raven's ear. "_Tu eres muy caliente_," she whispers, rolling the _r_ the way Señorita Rodriguez had taught them.

Quiver. Wobble. _Wow_. An audible squeak escapes, mingling with the sultry night air. Raven crooks her head slightly, to meet Chelsea's gaze. "Gracias."

It is now their turn to ride. Chelsea leads Raven through the entrance gate, in search of an unoccupied saddle. Rectangular mirrors adorn the hub of the carousel; luminescent bulbs shine from the rafters. The girls weave through the eclectic menagerie – zebra, ostrich, leopard, stork, and the merry-go-round mainstay: mechanical horses, painted sandy blonde, snow white, and chocolate brown.

"Marital dispute over?" the redhead inquires, vaulting a stationary giraffe.

Raven mounts an adjacent mare, eyes vacant and voluminous, teeth bared mid-whinny, legs suspended mid-gallop. "Si."

"You know I meant it, right? The caliente comment. I wasn't just saying that."

Nod. Smile. Melt like an ice cube. "I know."

The platform proceeds to rotate; wordless, distorted organ tunes wafting through concealed speakers.

Chelsea swings her legs, back and forth, to and fro, peals of laughter erupting from her slender frame. Wound around the white paper cone in one hand is a web of bubblegum-colored sugar, from which she plucks a sticky tuft and guides it to her mouth.

Raven is enamored with her innocence, the childlike aura that she no longer perceives as immature, but endearing, enchanting. Chelsea senses Raven's visual inquest, and her eyes drift toward her companion.

"Ride with me," Chelsea says.

"What?"

"Get off yours and get on mine." She scoots forward on the stiff, teal saddle, making room for Raven.

"Chels, that's-"

"Not allowed? So what? C'mon, Rae. Be a rebel. Ignore the one-horsie-per-heinie rule."

"But-"

"Rae, it's okay. Mine doesn't go up and down."

Ensuring that the ride attendant is inattentive, Raven allows the mare to descend before dismounting. She approaches the inert giraffe, with its yellow body and patchy brown spots. "Hey, how y'all doin'?" she addresses the animal and its rider, sliding her foot into the makeshift metal stirrup and straddling the spacious wooden saddle.

"You all right?"

Raven wraps her arms around Chelsea's waist. "Yeah, I'm good."

"Oh, by the way, Rae, I like the way you mounted that horse," the redhead remarks, nodding at the abandoned mare. "Very graceful. I see equestrian in your future."

"Hey, I'm the psychic here, you poser."

"Technically, I'm a wannabe, not a poser."

"Oh, whatever." Raven bops Chelsea on the head with the balloon animal.

"Ooh, let's see if it sticks!"

Following her companion's suggestion, Raven rubs the tubular sculpture against the copper-colored locks, generating static electricity. When she releases it, the balloon clings to her saddle-mate's hair.

"Okay, now take it off. I wanna see if I get that finger-in-the-light-socket look."

The psychic seizes the balloon, detaching it from Chelsea's head. Strands of hair are now standing at attention, and the girl resembles the offspring of Albert Einstein and the Bride of Frankenstein.

Raven smoothes Chelsea's tresses with her palm, guiding them back into place. "We are gonna make some marriage counselor very, very rich."

"Just don't you get going when the going gets tough, ya hear? And _don't _leave me for Eddie."

"I promise," her companion vows. "Nothin' to worry about there. You know how I kissed him at my party? It was like… kissing my arm or my pillow or something. No sparks, no fireworks. Zip, zilch, nada."

_I know. You told me. But it certainly didn't hurt to hear it again._ Chelsea pops another wad of wool-textured floss into her mouth. There is nearly an inch of space between the two teens. _I can fix that_, she decides, receding until the rivets of her back pockets collide with the nexus of the designer's denims.

Raven is rendered speechless, immobile. _Breathe, girl, breathe. In through your nose, out through your mouth… Whew. That's better._

To gauge the girl's reaction, Chelsea angles her body to the side, head pivoting forty-five degrees. "You know, you're pretty cute when you're mute. Hey, that rhymes. How poetic."

"How pathetic," Raven retorts.

"Hey!" Chelsea brandishes the fluffy confection like a sword, thrusting the saccharine-sweet treat in her friend's face. "Don't make me give you cavities!"

Five… four… three… two… one. Detonation: cackles, chortles, giggles, shrieks.

But when the laughter fades, so, too, does the music, the chatter, the crowd. Everything evaporates, evanesces, disintegrates into oblivion.

The pair gravitate toward one another, Raven's arms tightening around Chelsea's midsection, Chelsea's hand tightening around the faux gold pole, smudged with the fingerprints of a thousand strangers.

Their lips connect.

The transference of pink sugar granules from one pair to the other.

Cotton candy kiss.

A prolonged exchange.

Cotton candy kisses.

They disconnect.

Two sets of lungs grapple for oxygen. Two tongues emerge to collect the remnants of sugar. Two mouths curve into giddy grins.

Neither inquires _What just happened?_ There are no exclamatory proclamations. Regret, tension, awkwardness – all are absent. The cotton candy kisses are understood to be a tacit, tactile activation of their coupledom.

The natural progression of their relationship.

The carousel is no longer kinetic. Raven is the first to alight, offering her hand to Chelsea, assisting her descent to the platform.

As they cross to the exit, the hushed whispers of witnesses go unnoticed. Raven holds the gate open, releasing it when Chelsea is once again beside her.

Both have lost interest in the other attractions. They pass the thrill rides. Swirling, twirling, whirling. A mirage of fluorescent, coalescent colors. A bleeding rainbow.

"So… where do you wanna go for our honeymoon?" Chelsea queries. Then, hastily: "Unless it's too soon for that, 'cause I mean, we did just have our first kiss like five minutes ago, so maybe you're not ready for that yet…" _Please be ready, please be ready. I can't wait. I mean, I can wait, and I will, but please be ready._

_Oh, I am so ready_. "I'm ready," Raven answers, her broad smile and sparkling eyes belying her calm demeanor.

_Woooo! Phew_. "Well, I hear that, um, 519 Miranda Place has some pretty swanky accommodations," the redhead suggests, referring to Raven's place of residence.

"You heard right," her companion confirms. "Those are tip-top, top-notch, five-star digs. And the bedroom - puts the grand in grandioso, okay?"

"Ooh, sounds _excelente_!"

The girls trek through the throngs as they make their way to the parking lot. Linked, attached, affixed to one another, like paper dolls.

"Rae, wait a minute. Doesn't the wedding night come _before_ the honeymoon?"

"Don't worry about it, girl. We can kill two birds with one stone."

"Rae!"

"It is just an expression, Chels. Stop-"

"Trippin', I know, I know. I don't need a tree to fall on me… again."


	2. Immersion

**Chapter Two**

_Click_ goes the lock of Raven's bedroom door.

Chelsea releases the knob, raises her arm, runs her fingers down Raven's side. Traces the dip of her hip, treks high on her thigh. Then she stops, drops her hand, allowing it to dangle at her side. Her mouth twitches slightly, her brows furrow tightly. "We're not rushing this, are we?" _Please say no, please say no._

A smile surfaces on Raven's face. The pads of her digits trail along the smooth plane of Chelsea's cheek, the alabaster skin flush from the contact. The girls have been best friends since kindergarten. Both are now eighteen. With a slight shake of the head, the designer delivers her verdict: "It's been thirteen years in the making, Chels."

The redhead contemplates Raven's rationale. "Okay, just checking!" Chelsea chirps, and the two burst into quiet hysterics.

"Go wash your hands, sticky fingers."

Skipping to the bathroom, Chelsea flips the light switch on, swiveling the chrome faucet handles and squirting a glob of gooey, lavender-scented soap into her palm.

Raven joins her companion at the counter, presses her breasts against her back, twines her arms around her waist.

"Wait your turn, missy," the redhead teases, nudging Raven's torso with her tushie.

When they finish, they readjust the taps and dry their hands. "Back to the boudoir," Chelsea croons, discarding her sneakers and socks. In pursuit of the bed, she tugs Raven's arm, like a toddler anxious to impart a life-altering revelation to a parent.

Upon reaching her destination, Chelsea's back collides with the mattress, red ringlets splayed across a periwinkle pillowcase. "All aboard," she instructs, crooking her index finger and beckoning Raven to join her.

"You're a bottom, huh?" the vertical figure queries, sauntering, smirking. "Who'd'a thunk it?" Curling her pant legs, she unzips her black boots before removing them.

Raven climbs onto the bed, swings her leg across Chelsea's thighs, knees resting on either side.

The redhead raises her arms, bent at the elbows, and extends her hands to the girl astride her.

"What, you wanna play pat-a-cake?" Raven quips. She initiates the game, smacking Chelsea's palms.

But after one round of chanting and clapping, Chelsea terminates the game. Clutching Raven's hands, she slides her digits between the manicured fingertips, interlocking, interlacing.

"Rae, can I ask you a question?"

"You mean in addition to the one you already asked?"

_Stern look. Show her you mean business_. "Do you mind taking this just a liiiittle more seriously? Just a jot, a skosh, a smidge… a morsel, perhaps?"

Sigh. "You're right. I'm sorry."

Guiding her body into a sitting position, Chelsea fastens her gaze on Raven's. "Have you ever been in love?"

Raven places her hand over her heart. It feels like a basketball is bouncing against her ribcage.

Chelsea is experiencing a similar reaction. "And if so… when… and with whom?"

Nod. Imperceptible at first, then, gradually, more conspicuous, vigorous. "Yes and now and you."

An expansive grin materializes on carnation-pink lips. Butterflies twitter in her tummy. A feeling of unencumbered euphoria. "And it's a good thing, too," Chelsea says, "because _I_… am in love with you."

"Which is perfectly understandable."

Scoff. "Lemme know when you get back from your ego trip. This is all your fault, you know.

You just _had_ to go and be all ravishing and radiant and scrumpdillyumptious. You, mi amor, personify pulchritude."

"Pulchri-who?"

Smirk. Chuckle. Translate. "Pulchritude. Means beauty."

_When she's right, she's right_. "Yeah, I do, don't I?" the psychic gloats.

"It's true."

"You, too."

"Thank you!" Chelsea exclaims. Her fingers begin tracing hearts along the crinkles of Raven's palms. Gentle, delicate, ethereal, as though handling a china doll. Her touch evokes a shudder from her companion. "You know what, Rae? You were right, about us being thirteen years in the making. We were gonna happen sooner or later. And even though we happened to happen later than sooner, better later than never, right?"

_I'm not really sure if right is the right answer. Aw, man, now she's got me doin' it! Just nod and smile_. Nod. Smile.

"And when you really think about it," Chelsea continues, "we've kinda always been together. Like, the intimate stuff was always there - touching and hugging and stuff. Just wasn't always romantical. See, my theory is, Ben, Danny, and - okay, maybe not Devon, 'cause I know you guys had something special - but all those other boys we went out with: just detours on the road to happily-ever-after. Seems you have to kiss a lot of frogs before you find your princess."

"Oh, you got this fairytale stuff all figured out, don't you? Well, all right then, Mother Goose."

"Mother Goose tells nursery rhymes, not fairytales," Chelsea dares to correct her.

In lieu of a verbal upbraiding, the psychic punishes the transgression by whacking the girl's backside.

"Raven!" Chelsea gasps, shielding her bottom from future spankings.

"Don't act like you didn't like it. I know you liked it, and I like that you liked it."

"And I like that you like that I liked… it."

Giggles. Titters. Snickers.

Stillness.

Cotton candy kisses resume.

Peck. Smack. Smooch.

Lips part to permit the entry of tongues, an oral exploration.

Chelsea seizes the hemline of Raven's tank top. It is fern green in color, emblazoned with the silhouetted shapes of young women. Below the images is the proclamation: _I Love My Body!_

Chelsea winks. "Ditto."

"Huh?"

"Your shirt."

"What about my shirt?"

"Your shirt says: 'I Love My Body.' I say: so do I."

"Oh."

"Distracted, are we?" Chelsea taunts.

"You could say that…" Raven mumbles, lifting her arms so that Chelsea can remove the tank.

It is now time to dispose of the white cotton T-shirt still concealing Raven's body. "You got enough layers here to make a petticoat. Yeesh," the redhead jests, relieving her companion of the unnecessary attire.

Chelsea's mouth makes contact with the psychic's shoulder, her lips lavishing kisses on the scrumptious flesh.

Raven's breath catches in her throat. "Lemme just marinate in that for a minute," she murmurs, mesmerized, transfixed.

"Feel free to reciprocate at any time," Chelsea coaxes, disturbing Raven's reverie.

Her companion complies, digits creeping beneath the powder blue shirt hugging Chelsea's torso. Lustrous lips cling to the creamy vanilla skin of her neck.

Moments later, Chelsea's shirt joins Raven's on the bedroom floor, the carpet transformed into a clothing repository.

"Hey, no fair, you're already unzipped," the redhead remarks, jiggling the metal flap of Raven's zipper.

"Uh, that's because _you_ already unzipped me," Raven reminds her.

"That's right, I did, didn't I?"

"Distracted, are we?"

"You could say that…" the teen returns, duplicating the response Raven supplied when Chelsea had posed an identical query.

Raven's jeans are now southbound as she nudges them over her hips, down her thighs, and along her calves. Wriggling, writhing, undulating. Chelsea watches, gawking, gaping, a perfect imitation of a goldfish. "Not like you've never seen me get undressed before, Chels," the psychic points out, lobbing the garment over the edge of the bed before peeling off her socks.

Stammer. Stutter. Sputter. "I… You… Oh, come on, Rae, this is way different!"

"I know it is. And you turned on by me - big turn-on for me," the designer discloses. Raven is now clad in only her undergarments: a cheetah print bra, accented with black lace, and coordinated with matching bikini briefs, with black chiffon trim and a miniature bow at the waistband. "You, um… you scope me out a lot?" she inquires, assisting a seemingly incapacitated Chelsea with the removal of her lilac-hued denims.

"Yeah, but I like to keep my ogling on the down low, you know? I don't sneak any peeks until I peek at you first and make sure that you're not peeking at me peeking at you."

Within seconds, the neurological wiring in Raven's think tank fizzles and short-circuits. "Chels… I think you just cracked my coconut."

"Aww, I'll kiss it and make it better," the redhead offers, and presses her lips to the crown of the psychic's cranium. "How's that?"

"That's good, but, um… _this_ is better." Raven leans in, head tilted to the right.

Their mouths merge, and Chelsea extricates her feet and ankles from her jeans, before booting them from the bed. Only her skivvies remain: bra - seamless, satin… chartreuse, and corresponding panties, with parallel double straps and a heart-shaped aperture beneath the waistband.

Careful to avoid Chelsea's tickle spot, Raven sweeps her palm over the girl's back and deftly unhooks the clasp.

"Cotton candy pink," Raven observes, fingertip grazing the areola as the redhead shimmies out of the garment. A deep blush colors Chelsea's cheeks. "Candy apple red," the designer teases, planting a kiss on the side of her face.

"Rae?"

"Hmm?" Raven murmurs, caressing Chelsea's breast, kneading, needing.

Eyelids loll; lashes flitter. Chelsea struggles to remain alert. "May I… mention your unmentionables?"

"Mmm-hmm."

"How come I'm nearly naked and you're _not_ nearly naked…?" the redhead grouses, fingers fumbling with the clasp of Raven's bra.

"'Cause I work faster than you, slow poke."

"Still not back from your ego trip yet, huh?"

"Nope, I'm on an extended stay," Raven explains as the other girl persists in maneuvering the hook.

But to no avail. "Ugh! I can't… de-bra you!" Chelsea moans, a whine-cum-whimper.

"C'mere." Raven clutches her companion's hands, guiding them to the tiny hooks. Together, they unfasten the unyielding clasp.

"I guess what they say is true, then," Chelsea concludes, flinging the undergarment to the floor.

"Four hands really are better than two."

"That's not an expression, Chels."

The redhead sighs, dramatic, exaggerated. "You just couldn't let me have my day in the sun, could you?"

Fingers slide inside the elastic rim of Chelsea's panties. "No, _but_… I will let you have your day in the buff," the psychic propositions, stroking the whorl of chestnut-brown curls.

Chelsea mirrors Raven's ministrations, digits skimming along the chiffon trim, venturing to the interior of the fabric. Her unoccupied hand treks northward, thumb brushing against a plum-taupe teat, provoking its protrusion.

"I can't believe we waited thirteen years to do this," Raven remarks, as she and her companion remove their remaining articles of clothing.

Four hands embark on a carnal odyssey, navigating contours, peaks, and valleys.

"This is… not awkward at all," Chelsea murmurs. "Kinda feels familiar, like we've done this before… even though we haven't… have we?"

A faint chuckle. "No, it's-"

"About time." Chelsea's pupils penetrate Raven's. She further minimizes the distance between them, curling her legs around the other girl's waist, her arms around the other girl's torso. The redhead emits a coy giggle. "Our bellybuttons are touching," she observes.

"So are a couple of other things…" Raven rasps.

"Mmm. Busty _and _lusty," Chelsea purrs. "I like."

Their eyes connect.

Navel to navel.

Hips to hips.

Face to face.

Lips to lips.

"Chels, you know you're my first, right?"

"First what?"

_Gotta love ya, Biscuithead._ "Um, my first… my first lover," the designer discloses.

"I know," Chelsea says, palms roving Raven's back. "If you had been with anybody before me, I would've been the first to hear about it. Except now, I guess Eddie will be the first to hear about it. 'Cause, I mean, it's not like you can tell _me_ first, since I'll be there when it happens," the redhead rambles. "And I'm kinda hoping it happens soon, 'cause I'm getting a little antsy. Not that I have ants in my pants or anything like that. I mean, you can't really have ants in your pants unless you're actually _wearing_ pants… can you?"

"Girl, _what_ am I gonna do with you?" the psychic ponders, shaking her head in dismay.

Chelsea opens her mouth to reply, but at the first hint of friction, the playful banter subsides.

In unison, they tighten their embrace, securing their connection. Two heartbeats merge, fusing them into a singular being.

Chelsea's lips attach themselves to the pillar of Raven's throat. Raven burrows her face in Chelsea's neck, inhaling the aroma of apricot-scented soap. "You smell so good," she murmurs, fingers woven through the terracotta tresses.

The friction intensifies, building to a crescendo.

Immersed in one another, submerged in sensation, their bodies generate a heat that is at once sweltering and hypnotic. Beads of perspiration trickle from their foreheads, like raindrops on a windowpane.

"Come with me," Raven entreats, the apex of their pleasure imminent, impending, inevitable.

"Come with you where?"

"No, Chels, I mean… I wanna _come_ together."

And when it happens, it transcends everything they could have envisioned. It is exploding colors and crashing waves and cascading waterfalls. The passion that has been percolating, smoldering, for years, at last perforates the surface.

Chelsea grins and giggles and blushes. "Aww, Rae. We just made love." She loosens her hold, arms lax across her lover's back, allowing Raven to regain her composure. "Did you know," the redhead queries, "that the clitoris is made up of eight _thousand_ nerve endings?"

"And you were workin' every one of those nerves just now," the psychic purrs, astounded at her ability to construct a coherent sentence. "Chels, that was just so… whoa… Yeah… Wow. I don't think the words to describe that even exist yet, for real."

They disentangle themselves. Chelsea retreats to the head of the bed, re-arranging the decorative throw pillows, shams in peach, pear, periwinkle, garnished with fringes and tassels, sequins and feathers. "Pillow talk time," she announces, reclining against the cushy embankment.

Raven follows suit, stretching out beside Chelsea as the other girl enfolds her companion in her arms, like a cocoon.

"Rae, are we still friends?"

Enter panic mode. "Still… _just_ friends?"

"No, silly, girlfriends and _girl_friends. 'Cause we can be both, right? I mean, I don't wanna _just_ be your friend anymore, but I don't wanna _not_ be your friend anymore either. Does that make sense?"

Exit panic mode. "Actually, yes, that makes a lot of sense."

Chelsea nestles her chin in Raven's shoulder, nose nuzzling the rippling black tendrils. "So, when did you know? That you were smitten with your little sex kitten?"

The question induces a giggle fit, the skin bordering almond-shaped orbs crinkling in mirth.

"Joining me on my ego trip?" Raven quips.

"Thought you might like some company. And speaking of trips… for me, it was the camping trip."

"From sophomore year?"

"Yup," Chelsea confirms, the arch of her foot stroking Raven's calf. "With the bear and the log roll and the rock that was shaped like a cell phone."

"And let's not forget that nasty little skunk with the boot fetish."

"Mmm-hmm. Or your heroic rescue mission."

"Yeah." Raven slants her head toward Chelsea. "I think that's when I knew, too," she says.

"When we were sitting together, doin' the whole star-gazing thing, I wanted to kiss you so bad."

"Why didn't you?"

"I didn't know you wanted me to."

"Fraidy cat," the redhead ribs, to which Raven responds with a Muffy-like huff.

"Hold up now. I don't recall _you_ puttin' the moves on _me_."

"Point taken," Chelsea concedes. "But I really didn't think I stood much of a chance, to be honest, what with you being all boy-crazy and… me not being a boy."

Raven plants a kiss at the corner of Chelsea's mouth. "All that time chasin' after guys when I should've been chasin' after you," the psychic laments.

"Am I a good catch?"

"I could do worse," Raven jests. "But," she continues, precluding the forthcoming protest, "I definitely couldn't do better."

"Aww, Rae!" Chelsea squeezes Raven, fiercely, forcefully, as though trying to extract juice from an orange.

The designer feels like a fish deprived of water. She smacks the girl's forearms, a not-so-subtle appeal for release. "Chels!" she croaks, wheezing.

Arms slacken. Apologies commence. "Sorry," the redhead atones. "You're just so gosh darn huggable."

Raven shifts in Chelsea's embrace, so that the two are now facing each other. "You know how you were sayin' earlier how it's better that this happened later than never?" Her companion nods.

"Well, I also think it's better that it happened later than sooner. Can you imagine tryin' to be a couple in high school? Not that it really matters what other people think, but… I'm just sayin'."

"Yeah, it would be pretty awkward," Chelsea concurs. "I mean, we'd have more leeway with the PDA, 'cause we're girls, and girls can be pretty touchy-feely without people getting suspicious. But still, it's not like we could hold hands every minute, or make googly eyes at each other, or neck."

"Neck?" Raven arches an eyebrow. "Now _there's_ a word I haven't heard in, oh, three hundred years or so."

"Really? 'Cause I would've thought you weren't alive three hundred-"

"Chels. It was a joke. You said I'm super funny, remember? Gotta live up to my rep, right?"

"Right."

Raven caresses Chelsea's back, fingers sketching vertical lines and spherical shapes across the center. Gentle, delicate, ethereal, as though handling a china doll. "What am I writing?" Raven inquires.

Chelsea wills herself to concentrate on deciphering the message. "I… love… you. I love you. I love you, too, Rae."

"What's not to love?"

"Well, sometimes you-"

"That was a rhetorical question, Chels," the designer clarifies, deflecting a lengthy discourse on her (alleged) imperfections.

Simper. Grimace. Nervous chuckle. "My bad." _Better change the subject so she'll stop staring at me with that ya-little-nasty glare_."Rae, I know we just consummated our coupledom and all, but… when's the next conjugal visit?"

The question does the trick, placating the psychic, erasing the pseudo-snarl. "'Conjugal visit'?"

Raven echoes. "Are you in prison?"

"No, but I'm a prisoner of love," Chelsea drawls, giggling. "I just need to work on my de-bra-ing technique. Next time, I'm gonna peel you like a banana. Or a potato. Nah, a banana. Much quicker," she determines as she simulates the peeling process: "Uno, dos, tres, _voilà_."

Her companion smiles, expelling a yawn. Raven's eyelids are beginning to droop. The designer declines slightly, adjusting a fluffy, puffy pillow beneath her head.

"You getting sleepy?"

"What gave me away?" Raven mumbles, arm draped languidly across Chelsea's midriff.

"The, um, the doze-in-repose look," the redhead replies.

Grin. Chuckle. "That's cute, Chels."

"Thanks!" Chelsea pulls the covers over them and snuggles up beside Raven, their bodies fitting together like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. "Want me to tell you a bedtime story?"

Without waiting for a yea or a nay, the redhead launches into fairytale mode. "Once upon a time, there lived two best friends forever, Princess Raven and Princess Chelsea. They liked to hang out together and get in trouble together and go shopping together." Chelsea discerns the slightest hint of a smile when she utters the word shopping.

"Eventually, their friendship blossomed into something more, and the princesses realized that they were in love with each other. So one day they… Rae?" Nose tap. "Raven?" Shoulder nudge.

_I can't believe this! She zonked out on me! All right, well, I guess I'll fast-forward and join her in slumber land. But first_…

"Gimme some sugar." Chelsea steals one last cotton candy kiss, a residual sugar particle clinging to the cupid's bow of Raven's mouth. She savors the flavor and feel of her lover's lips, supple and succulent, like strawberries. "Mmm. Thank you, Princess Raven."

_Now, where was I…? Oh, yeah_.

"And so it was that the princess and the princess lived happily-ever-after. The end."

The End.

* * *

Author's note: I hope you aren't too devastated… Okay, so perhaps devastated is too strong of a word… Um… disappointed? Yeah, let's go with that. I hope you aren't too disappointed that the story is over. There will be a sequel. Someday. All I can promise is that I will write a sequel. I can't promise _when_ I will write said sequel, but just know that said sequel will be written. Someday.


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